Homeschooling with eyeliner.

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And I’m NOT in therapy.

(And not just because it sometimes think that law school would be the best way to go for me despite the fact that the rest of my body is going “FRICK NO WE DO NOT WANT TO WORK PAST FIVE O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON!”. True story- I walked past a place this afternoon that closed at three and resolved to come back tomorrow for an employment application.)

No, because now that Grandpa’s house is almost completely finished (I know! Right? It’s only been TEN FREAKING MONTHS! So if you know anyone who wants to rent, give me a call!), I kind of…um…really want to move in. Like, now.

Not only do I not want other people living there- although I emphatically do not. I don’t share well. I never have. Those joint Christmas gifts with my sister when we were little? Screw ’em. The joint birthday parties we did for a few years? Gross. I don’t like people using the bathroom attached to my bedroom- and it’s the guest bathroom in a house that I don’t own. I have repeatedly attempted to find a way to obtain sole custody of children when you’re still married because I don’t think I’m ever going to love anyone enough to trust them with my children- even if half of their DNA came from him. So other people wiping their gross little hands all over the walls I bled on, cried on, threw things at in frustration painted? NOT COOL.

But I want to live there. I’m going out after work on Saturday. I’m not going to lie, part of the reason I accepted is that there won’t be enough time to go home and I’ll have to change and get ready there. I’ve done that a couple times now, and I love it. I mean, yes, I’m using makeup out of a bag and I have to stay away from treatment-less windows because the women in that neighborhood have a median age of 85 and are huge gossips- and I’d hate for the entire group to know that I wear (*gasp*) black underwear sometimes! But it’s still almost like I live there.

(AND IT EVEN MATCHES WHORE.)

I find myself stopping to refill my water bottle or use the bathroom, even if I’m just going home. I go for walks in the neighborhood because there are small roads that lack both a.) big trucks, b.) big trucks going incredibly fast around curves, and c.) rabid dogs who like to follow me home and hump my leg. It’s just so much more peaceful.

I have developed into an adult at the socially acceptable time, and so I haven’t spent a whole huge amount of time daydreaming since I was, oh, twelve, but whatever little story is running through my head at any given time? Probably is set in that house. Last winter I had to stop and pick something up on my way home from school and it was dark and as I was letting myself in I caught myself thinking, “Hmmm…I’m going to have to leave the porch light on…this is kind of spooky.”

For God’s sake, I have the nursery decorated in my head. I’m 21, single, and decidedly not pregnant. (Can one be decidedly not pregnant? Or decidedly pregnant for that matter? Whatever. I’m not.)

So. In my head, it doesn’t make a difference that I have essentially no job, no car, no career path for the next nine years, and unless the pay for a barista goes up considerably in the next six months, no hope of changing any of these circumstances for a little while. No, in my head I’m picking out furnishings.

(Not wallpaper. NEVER, EVER WALLPAPER.)

But! The fact that in nine years I will have a piece of paper saying, “Hey, you can give her a job shaping not-so-young minds and she knows a crapload about the Troubles-

(OOOH! I have something to say about that, but it has absolutely nothing to do with this topic, so will you stay with me for a tangent? You will? Oh, good. Okay. I was watching the BBC news the other night because I’m a little bit sick of the American economy and that’s all the US news organizations will report on, and one of the stories was about how there is now an investigation into why, exactly, a Catholic man was beaten to death outside his house, and this isn’t the first one recently either. Is it starting again? Because Dr. Crain will be very sad if he has to stop ending his Northern Ireland class with the whole, “But now there’s peace. And that will be enough.” Okay. Tangent over.)

-but more importantly can make a mocha that will knock your socks off!” if we don’t find somebody to rent it. So while I’ll be locked away in the basement to prevent me from hissing at potential renters, it is a lovely house and if anyone wants to rent it please let me know!

(I’ll be the one doing my makeup in a recently furnished bathroom that’s not mine.)